Under the ledge, Wild Bill struck a match and peered about him. His eyes, almost immediately, fell on the form of Mrs. Brisco. She was bound hand and foot, and a handkerchief was tied over her lips; but her eyes were wide open and staring appealingly up into Wild Bill’s face.
“Nomad—here!” called Hickok.
The trapper hurried to the side of his pard.
“Waugh!” muttered Nomad, mystified. “Thet’s erbout ther wust mistake I ever knowed Cayuse ter make. Mrs. Brisco is alive! However did Cayuse git ther notion she wasn’t?”
Kneeling down, the old trapper, with quick but gentle hands, removed the cords from Mrs. Brisco’s wrists and ankles.
“My husband!” whispered the woman, tearing the handkerchief from her face. “I heard his voice a moment ago. Where is he?”
“He thinks ye’re dead, mum,” said Nomad softly. “Go out ter him. Et’ll be the happiest surprise o’ his life ter see ye well and hearty. Et ain’t often things turns out like this in rale life, Hickok,” the trapper added, watching Mrs. Brisco hurry out into the gully and approach her husband.
“Only in books, old pard,” returned Wild Bill, “do you run across such a happenchance in the workings of fate. But I’m mighty glad this thing has happened to Gentleman Jim.”
“Same here,” said Nomad.
The two watched while the woman fluttered to the side of her grieving husband.